It was hard to believe, but here she was. Back in Creta. Her home for (at this point) most of her life. Amestris had been her home for a long time as well. She knew in her heart she would miss the place, but it was a deep longing. It was a soft contentment, like when she had originally left Hatfield. Both places were her home and she would be happy in either place. When Elastor had dropped the bombshell about moving to Creta in January, Csilla had been struck dumb. And the more she had thought about it, the more the idea didn't seem so bad. She had put time and love into Central City and the military there. And she would never betray those people. But she had to follow her heart. And right now her heart was somewhere in downtown London with some sword-carrying fool. She was not there. She was at her new lodgings. Perfect, quaint lodgings.

Csilla had forgone another apartment in the city to find a rental home about a half hour train ride outside of downtown London. Someone had, many moons ago, bought a couple pieces of land and tore down the tall, narrow houses that had been there. The eccentric fellow had created a Cretan country cottage in the London outskirts. It was stone and on a single level. The tiny yard had a small garden and some beautiful trees, not to mention the roses on either side of the door. The bedrooms inside were small, but the main living space was large and open. In effect, it was pretty much perfect for Csilla. She'd been in Creta for several days; two days ago the movers had come and put in all of her furniture. The day before had been spent unpacking her clothes and other items. The place almost looked done.

However, it was missing the plethora of art Csilla owned plastered all over the walls. That was what today was all about. She had left Elastor a short voicemail saying that she was settling in and left her new address. She expected him to appear at some point... well, she hoped. He was a huge reason she had moved to Creta, after all. The stereo in the living room was playing a variety of catchy pop tunes and all of the windows were open to let in the beautiful breeze. Csilla wore some blue gym shorts and a green tank top. Not quite matchy, but that wasn't a requirement for hanging pictures. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail before she dove into the first box labelled “Family.” This was all of the photos and drawings Csilla had of her parents and grandparents. Grabbing a stack she went into her bedroom and began undoing the bubble wrap. Hooks, hammer, nail and 3M hooks were already spread across her bed. Lifting a large family portrait from when she was a baby, she began to gauge where it should go on the wall.

It reminded him of his house. Their house, his and Nu's. Where they grew up. Ruins now. One of those places kids went to smoke pot. It was already razed to the ground, singed hinges creaking in the wind. Boards caved and fell under just a little rainfall, the roof toppled just a little more each time he passed it on the way to work, looking just to remember. Right now, out here in the wide-open space and rolling hills, he saw his childhood. Why, he wasn't sure, but he saw it, tentatively reaching out to him with barbed wire hands. He knew that if he took them, that it would hurt.

Dodging and stumbling over the thoughts, his Porsche rumbled on as if she were hungry. He rolled further along the curb, and squinted at the rose bushes on either side of the door. Their thorns would scratch passerby if they were allowed to overgrow. Red roses were just the thing; they oddly matched. He threw the car into park and turned it off, getting out and brushing himself off. Pocketing his keys, he wondered if he would ever be able to live in a house again, however small and quaint. Also, if he would ever be able to live somewhere his sister didn't. Not that he wasn't fine without her, but just that he wouldn't trust her on her own. It didn't matter what she said or what kind of front she put up, she didn't work alone. She wasn't like him. No matter how hard she tried, cocking a shotgun wasn't what life was supposed to be about. Taro's smile, Ken's laughter, they meant the world. Under whatever roof, it hardly counted in the end. So long as they were all happy. All happy and protected from any potential danger. The ghosts haunting him couldn't reach them. His sword could.

His fist was outstretched to the door, knuckles catching on a light cotton jacket, black. The collar was lopsided in his rush to get out the door and to where he was now. His GPS, off now, had taken him the hour and fifteen minutes to her doorstep. Traffic was a bitch, unkind, and uncaring. He hadn't even remembered to text her back anything. He just rudely showed up and was about to knock. Was that okay? He glared at the fresh paint and shifted his weight. His arm was getting tired. He knocked and immediately pocketed it as if he just committed a fallacy. It was hot out even. A butterfly shooed across his line of sight, drifting about the rose bush and giving him a beady-eyed glower. He glared back at it and reached out to shake it off the flower when...

Csilla was pretty impressed with herself. She had successfully hung all of the photos in her bedroom, as well as a couple of paintings and drawings in her bedroom and bathroom. That part of the cottage felt more like home now. Csilla had moved into her main living space, ready to hang more when she heard a brisk knock on the door. Her heart leapt just a little bit. Only one person knew her address and she knew she definitely wasn't seeing the movers again. She didn't expect neighbors to pop in... wasn't always the Cretan style. Which meant it had to be Elastor.

She opened the door to see Elastor staring down a butterfly. How... strange. Despite the circumstances she found him in when she opened the door, she was still elated to see him. The upper half of her body leaned over the threshold as she brushed her lips against his cheek in greeting. “Hi! I'm glad you're here.” She stepped back to make room in the doorway. Not that she needed to, as she had two functioning doors. He could've easily opened the second. “Come on in!”

He froze. It seems you get to live another day, butterfly. There was malice in his mind-voice. Though it didn't quite matter much to anyone else beside himself. Still, the directive was certainly there, and Csilla seemed to kind of notice before greeting him. He shed a half-smile, sliding in through the space she made because the other door looked too grandiose to open without permission. Inside, he found the fresh smell of unlived in newness. His apartment used to smell like this...before children. He shuddered. They were like the plague sweeping in and making crayon marks on the walls. Of all places why was there the most appealing?! He'd never understand the inner workings of children, mainly perhaps due to his lack of childhood himself. Regardless, the smell reminded him of a time before now when he lived alone. The quiet could eat him alive now if he let it. His eyes narrowed as he took in the unhung paintings and various other boxes and things. Alone. She would be that too now. Not that she hadn't been alone in Amestris... It was different now. New place. Friends? Job? He blinked rapidly. He didn't even think about any of this. He had been entirely self-absorbed.

As if the rosebush had anything to do with it. But that damn butterfly made him take two steps back and exit himself momentarily to see that fact that Csilla was the only one here. He was coming to see her and she was here for him. The among-other-things adage had no place here. And the entire scenario was baffling. Her place was...charming. He could see Ken and Taro already tearing it to shreds. Cringe. But they'd love it. Out of the city. Away from the rush--the craze--the whatever Ela got himself wrapped up into. War. Danger. A place like this would be away from all that--safer. His mind grew stuck on that thought, absorbing more and more of it until he was considering getting rid of his apartment he had had for all those long, lonely years. Like an old friend, the place was haunting.

He shifted his weight and allowed himself further inside, taking off his coat, and flopping it over a chair. "It really is nice," he said, hardly thinking about what he was saying, which was odd coming from him. Ela took himself around the general area, not venturing far, but enough. Once absorbing the relative atmosphere, he turned back to her with lavender eyes and wisps of red dishevelment. "If Ken and Taro ever come, I'll have to put them on leashes."

"It really is nice." Csilla's eyes sparkled, her smile bright. She was already immensely proud of her new place of residence, although she had yet to actually sleep in it. She couldn't complain at all, except for maybe a little contact with Elastor. She knew he wasn't the “jump-on-you-and-snog” type. He was always close when he wanted to be and that was usually very exciting, because it was always unexpected. Csilla both loved and hated that about him. She wanted him to easily wrap his arms around her without any say-so or without an hour dragging by. But when he did hold her, it was always right, so it didn't matter when it happened.

"If Ken and Taro ever come, I'll have to put them on leashes." Csilla let a surprised laugh tumble out of her lips. She had seen the leashed children before, usually sporting an animal backpack. They were terribly amusing but also just a teeny bit silly. She shook her head. “No, they won't need them. I'd love for them to come by sometime. Your sister too.” She closed the space between them, grabbing at his hand and tugging a little. “I'll give you the grand tour!” She started off to her right, pointing out the kitchen and dinette set, which was easily self-explanatory. She brought him into her art room, which was remarkably cleaner than the one in her old apartment... mostly because she hadn't done anything in it yet. One easel had some empty canvas, the other a large pad of paper. The paper had sketch lines, the start of something new. Back into the living space, she gestured to her living room area, which already had his coat in it. She showed him the bathroom and ended in her bedroom.

A faint blush stole up her cheeks as she showed him her bedroom. Yes, he was familiar with the things in it. He had slept on her bed with her while he was in Central City for the festival. They had... Another blush stole up Csilla's cheeks as her mind stole towards that night. Shaking off the nervous/excited jitters it still brought on, she moved back into the living room. “There's also a small patio outside and a garden. If you'd like to see that too.”

As soon as he first spoke, the look that entered her eyes... He couldn't place it--couldn't describe it. Sometimes, he found himself entirely at a loss. Unused to it--unable to catch up to it, he could only stare at it with wonder. What was that--this. Unaware of his own gaze reflecting the same, he'd reach out to her through the air between them and feel it buzz to life. It was simply love. The word was stuck there, its definition lost in the moment, drowning under torrents and torrents of rain-smeared glances. His entire life--all those years, he had never felt anything like this. Cages forged in shadow--glints of gun against blade--those whispers in the dead of night telling him he would never be the same were lies. It was over. It was over. Now. And standing here, he was ready. For whatever came next. No matter what, he would always be ready. After that: the smoke, the flames, the blame. It grew back...into this--into now. Where he stood was the beginning again. And he wasn't alone. He could hardly get enough air. There wasn't a second to waste breathing.

"No, they won't need them. I'd love for them to come by sometime. Your sister too.”

"They will," he murmured, "but only if you don't value your drapes." She took his hand. Lead him. He wasn't paying attention to the tour. Vaguely he recognized things she showed him, but he was too busy looking at her to notice. She was so happy--happier than he had ever really seen her. That of itself made him feel something akin to it as well. He felt light.

The bedroom door opened. She took him inside, unable to hide the tinge caressing her cheeks. He could have laughed, but he didn't. It wasn't him to laugh. At least not yet. Not yet? He struggled with the thought, barely holding onto his sanity the closer and closer they got. “There's also a small patio outside and a garden. If you'd like to see that too.” He caught her arm, drawing her back--drawing her towards him. His other arm fell around her, closer--closer yet still. His eyes closed and he was gone.

"It's okay," he said, hardly understanding its meaning. It's okay she didn't show him anything else. It was okay; she didn't have to try so hard. It was okay now. Regardless.

Well, apparently Elastor didn't want to see the outside of the house. At least for the time being. He just pulled her into him and held her. Csilla's hands slipped around him as well. They remained like that, in a comfortable silence. Csilla let her head rest against his shoulder, eyes closing after another moment. It was peaceful, standing like this. Being close to Elastor after constantly being apart for such long periods of time. They remained that way for several minutes. Csilla's eyes blinked open. While she was enjoying this, she didn't want to spend the entire rest of the day clinging to Elastor. She slowly untangled herself and looked up at him with a bright smile.

“Do you want something to eat or drink?” She moved back and gestured to her kitchen. “Or maybe you want to help me hang some pictures?” She shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't sure what else to suggest at this point. She was really happy that Elastor was here, but she did need to finish moving in.

She took to him just as he took her. The moment lasted--dragged on and on as if time could just stop and that would be it. He found himself being okay with that. His sister, her children, anyone else in the world just didn't matter in those few minutes standing there like that. He felt like he was floating--just floating off and away with nothing else but the realization that this wasn't something that could end. Touching, feeling, being--all a mystery, like breathing. It was never questioned. She unraveled herself from him after a time, and Elastor didn't resist at all; he just watched her, waiting for what came next. And then she would speak and he would listen as typical of a fellow human being, which felt odd--off, unusual. He never really thought of himself alike to others; he was that vile monster--that demon who vengeance was the only solid thing in this world. He went on for that sole purpose, and now--now he was standing there, arm still tingling from another's touch. He let someone else in.

“Do you want something to eat or drink?” He looked in the direction of the kitchen, staring off at it as if it were distant lands. Food, beverages--sustenance? Oh right, it was lunch time or something, right? He glanced at a nearby clock, glaring at it intensely for daring to interrupt-- “Or maybe you want to help me hang some pictures?” He raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by the idea of him hanging pictures. His apartment was barren, solid, empty when compared to Csilla's creative collection of pictures. Well, it was until Ken and Taro took crayons to the walls and began practicing their alphabet. Now everyone who has trodden through the hallway knows that 'Unca Ela lives here'. And a scrawled depiction of his appearance minus the sword and minus the glare. So actually it really didn't look like him at all. His glare deepened.

"Yeah I can do that." He moved to the doorway and sighed, looking back, trying to gather a discreet way of saying this. "Maybe you can spare something for me to hang up. Nu would probably like it." 'Paint something for me so the kids don't ruin the wallpaper' sounded less likely to work.

"Yeah I can do that. Maybe you can spare something for me to hang up. Nu would probably like it." Csilla looked at Elastor with a bright smile. “Of course! I've got plenty to spare and I can easily whip up something special, if you or your sister want something specific.” She didn't mention to him that she already had something for Anouk to hang up because that was strictly a gift for her. And it wasn't finished yet either, which didn't help. So instead she went to a box in front of her couch labelled “Paintings.” It was full of completed paintings and drawings, most of them framed. The large portfolio of drawings without frames was already in the art room. A framed picture would be better and a good test to see if Elastor liked her oil paintings. That was a new hobby and she still wasn't perfect at it.

She grabbed the box knife from the top of the box and sliced the packaging tape open. She began to shift through the box, pulling out a couple that she knew she wanted to place into her bedroom and another one she wanted to place in her bathroom. Giving a small cry of delight, she pulled out the one she had been searching for. She turned back to Elastor, proudly displaying the painting. It was oil paint and on 18x18 canvas. The frame around it was thin, white wood, which starkly contrasted with the dark background of the painting. The background was dark to help the colors stand out even more. It was a bouquet of flowers, Gerber daisies. Each flower was a different color: yellow, pink, purple, sky blue, white and on. The green stems all moved down, gathering together in what appeared to be a glass vase. The colors of the daisies reflected slightly off the glass, just as the light from when Csilla had been painting. “Do you think this will do?” Csilla felt slightly on edge, terribly nervous. It wasn't really “manly” but it was lovely. Would he like it?

“Of course! I've got plenty to spare and I can easily whip up something special, if you or your sister want something specific.” He paused a second, at a complete loss (which happened often around Csilla). Something specific? What did that even mean? She was going to make them a custom painting, specifically for them? It was something strange to him. Why would someone go out of their way to do that when they could just give him anything and he would like it? Maybe he should tell her that. No, then he'd sound unappreciative. But it was true all the same; maybe it was better to tell the truth. Then how would she handle it? She might be offended. Maybe she just wanted to give him a more recent work--show off her newer skills? She really didn't need to do that, not for him; however, she didn't know that, did she? They were only recently...this close. She probably didn't know all that much about him--how he handled things. He wasn't nearly as open a book as she--not that she was as simple as a book. Csilla was more like a painting to be interpreted, cherished, and displayed in a place with a lot of sunlight. It took some discerning, but otherwise Csilla wasn't too complicated. He was just an idiot sometimes. Like now.

"No. You can just give me one of your old ones." He probably shouldn't have said that. "Thank you!" He blurted quickly to try and cover up his folly, but alas, he was sure he had just ruined everything. Looking down at his toes in shame, he reminded himself horrifically of Taro being scolded, which caused him to look right back up again into the lion's den. Except there wasn't a lion. She had turned and gone to a box beside the couch, flipping through it for something. He stood there dumbfounded. Nothing? No reaction? His eyes narrowed as she drew out a painting of a vase, instantly scrutinizing it. His gaze softened. "Daisies mean 'purity'." And hell if he needed some of that with children razing about. "It's...very you." He smiled, a small one, like a brush of an unsuspecting spiderweb. It would look good in the kitchen where everyone could see it, including himself.

"Daisies mean 'purity'." She beamed, clearly choosing to forget his mysterious blunder statement when she had been digging through the box. "It's...very you." Csilla surely felt that what he said was a blatant lie... at least it was to her own ears. But she wasn't going to push away his genuine-sounding compliment. She wasn't pure... not anymore and not by a long shot. And that was just physically speaking. She had lost her purity a long time ago, though she had kept a certain measure of innocence. She supposed it was because of the way she saw the world, through an artist's eye. She was able to see the beauty and the horror in each thing and revel in it.

She walked over to him with the painting, brushing her lips on his cheek for the sweet statement. She set the painting next to the door, so he would remember to grab it upon leaving. They spent the next hour or so putting up paintings. They chatted back and forth, Csilla talking more as seemed the usual. Elastor was helpful getting things that Csilla would otherwise need a step stool for. The living room had been completely decorated when Csilla called a break. “Let me make you something. It's only fair for you helping.”

She didn't buy it. His icy eyes narrowed a bit in question. He was having a hard time discerning why exactly. There was the whole only-children-are-pure thing and then there was...war. Was it that? Was it that she had shot and killed people? Could it be that reason why she thought she wasn't pure? He could see it. Clearly as day. She didn't believe him. Nonetheless she let it pass, leaving a gentle gesture on his cheek. Silently, he watched her set the painting beside the door. It leaned there forlornly, awaiting his departure so as to not forget. There, she left her innocence crooked against the wall, enraptured by words lost of meaning. He lowered his gaze and let it rest for a short time beneath auburn bangs unevenly dispersed.

Rest was not an option after she led him back further inside, putting nails into the wall and hanging various pieces of art about. It certainly brought color, but everything else it entailed was lost on him. He was sweating slightly by the time, Csilla called for a break. He wanted to keep going and get it all over with, but he figured going the normal route would be more satisfactory to her in the bigger scheme of things. Fine, he'd let her have her way. He backed away from the wall.

"What is this 'something'?" He honestly didn't care what it was so long as it involved her in some way and didn't diverge the effort of going out anywhere. He was content just being here. Away from it all, but within arm's reach of what really counted.

"What is this 'something'?" Csilla clicked her tongue, gesturing that Elastor take a seat at the small kitchen table. “That's a very good question,” she mused. Going to her fridge, she cracked open the door to peer inside. She wasn't really stocked for food at the moment, due to the whole move. The majority of her food was of the frozen variety. Not exactly healthy, but it would suffice. Csilla didn't always want healthy right after hard labor. Calories all the way!

Sticking her head into the freezer, she listed off the available dinner items to Elastor. “I've got cheese pizza, apple pie, meatballs, frozen-steamed broccoli, and chocolate ice cream.” She stepped out from the freezer and turned to look at Elastor, one arm keeping the door open. The cool air blowing across her skin gave her goosebumps but felt really nice. “I think I've got some pasta in the cabinet... plus maybe some pasta sauce. Spaghetti and meatballs?” She gave Elastor a bright smile, waiting to hear his input before beginning to cook anything.

“That's a very good question.” Ela took a seat at the table as directed, crossing one leg over the other. He was content--so oddly content that it was hard to describe or even think about. So instead, he found himself thinking about other things: mundane things that hardly mattered, but somehow did. Now the idea of Csilla cooking for him was enjoyable. A break. That's what this was--this is what one felt like. And for once, he couldn't complain.

"Sounds good," he murmured without really thinking about it. Until it occurred to him what she had just listed. He had to cover his folly. "All of them mixed together. Have a pot?" His attempt at a joke.

"Yeah, or that's better. I guess we should save the chocolate ice cream for dessert. That's what I always tell Ken and Taro." He shed a smile and hopped up onto one foot, taking a step at her with the other. "I'll handle the meatballs if you do the spaghetti." Nothing like teamwork.